Sweet Wolf
by Ondjage
Summary: Takes place during S6E01. What if Brienne and Podrick never arrived in time? What if a darker power was called upon in order to save Sansa Stark and Theon Greyjoy from being captured by Bolton men?


Author's Note: I've not abandoned this story, I'm just an awful amateur who isn't very consistent. Also, I've revised and edited the first three chapters and condensed them. I'll upload the next half tomorrow after work. Also will probably still have to go over this one again... so I suppose my editing is just as lacking in consistence as my writing is!

00

It hadn't been long since night had fallen, and Sansa Stark had no idea how long they had been trekking swfitly through the forest. All she knows for certain is that her legs are dead weights, and her lungs burned. Theon's hand guided her, and like serpents they wove through trees weighed heavy with snow.

She heard hounds baying in the distance, which served as an unsettling reminder should they decide to stop. Neither can afford to, no matter how numb they are from the cold, or how blistered their feet are.

Sansa knew she wouldn't be able keep this pace up for much longer though, and the realization had her chest tightening with dread. She had resolved to throw herself on a sword before going back to that bastard. Better off dead than the play thing of some sadistic monster. She had experienced more than her desired share of suffering in King's Landing.

The snow was suddenly spun up from the ground and trees by a gale of wind, and Sansa found herself momentarily blinded, long enough for her to trip over some ice slick rocks, loosing a startled cry from chapped lips as she fell. A splitting pain shot through her right ankle. Hot tears prickled at the corner of her eyes. Theon looked at her earnestly, desperate, his hand reached for hers as she struggled to pick herself up.

"We need to keep going!"

"We're going to die, aren't we?" His eyes flickered for just a moment, and Sansa caught a brief glimpse of the Theon she remembered, proud and stubborn, a man of the sea who will never sow; not this shattered husk of a man who called himself Reek.

"No." For once, he doesn't avoid her eyes, and there was steel in his voice. "We will live, my Lady."

He tried tugging her forward but she gasped whenever applying too much pressure on her foot. The echo of thundering hooves and howling dogs was dangerously close.

"I can't," she whimpered, shaking her head. "I can't."

"Sansa, please..."

She was ready to insist he go on without her and save himself, until a pair of hounds finally burst through the trees behind them, leading a man as well as four others on horseback. The hounds struggled against their harnesses, baying in excitement.

A flare of panic welled up in Sansa.

"Nowhere left to run," a man-presumably the leader of the lot- bellowed, from atop a steed as white as the snow around them, a long-sword singing from its sheath and into the cool night air. Sansa wasn't sure if it was her or Theon who whined in fear. The man with the sword made a hasty dismount and strode toward them, grabbing Sansa roughly by the arm.

Something in her just seemed to snap.

She jerked away from the man. She was dimly aware of someone yelling. And was that the dogs growling, or her? It was almost as though the world around her had slowed. A burning wave of anger, like hot iron, swelled in her chest. Her teeth and nails suddenly felt too sharp. That's when all coherent thought seemed to stop. Sansa blacked out.

One moment they are about to be captured, the next Sansa was transforming into some kind of wolfish monster. Yet not a wolf at all. She resembled something nightmarish straight from one of Old Nan's stories.

The beast towered over them on two powerful legs, lips curled back to expose plum fresh gums and glittering white canines. Theon saw no traces of Sansa Stark left in this blazing golden pools, only animal. The man with the sword stumbled back in terror. He seemed to have a sudden moment of clarity too little too late, raising his blade as if to strike.

A spray of blood and the man was swiftly decapitated in one clean stroke. Sansa- no, the wolf- drew away from the crumpling body with a disgruntled snort. A cold chill, harsher than any Northern storm he had ever endured, crept through Theon. The wolf turned to face the rest of the Bolton scouts.

She advanced on them, and the dogs were pulling away for entirely different reasons now.

"Seven fucking hells!"

The horses squealed and bucked, and one rider was thrown backwards, landing on his back with a decidedly loud crack, his horse speeding off into the night. The other two were forced to dismount quickly, lest they meet a similar fate. Sansa lunged at the one with the dogs first, all fangs and fury, a tortured howl ripping through her throat as she surged toward him. He attempted to pivot away and bring his sword down on the wolf's monstrous head, but she was too quick, too nimble, tearing his throat out with equally monstrous teeth.

The dogs took their opportunity to flee once their owner fell face first, choking to death on his own blood.

Theon doesn't move. He's thinks he might have pissed in his trousers. Fortunately for him, Sansa's immediate attention seemed fixed on the two surviving Bolton men. One of them tried making a hasty escape, and then the wolf effortlessly broke into a sprint on all fours, running him down like frightened game. His agonized screams filled the air as she ripped hungrily into his spine.

Nausea washed over Theon like a tidal wave. The last Bolton soldier was a hysterical, gibbering mess, sword cast aside, hands clenched together as though in prayer. She slaughtered him as mercilessly as she did the rest, fangs finding flesh beneath boiled leather and steel. She didn't seem ready to stop either, until Theon shifted from his position crouched in the snow.

"S-Sansa?" He stammered out, trying in vain to steady trembling hands. He had remained frozen in place during the entire skirmish. The cacophony of violence was over, and now the sound of his heart pounding in his ears was too loud to ignore. Sansa was panting like an overworked hound, moonlit pelt stained in shades of red. The fur around her neck bunched up when she pulled her head away from her meal to regard him cautiously. A rumble erupted from her throat. A tongue darted out to lick gore stained teeth.

Theon stiffened.

He dropped his head quickly, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable before this eight foot tall wolf monster. Was she going to tear him to pieces too? Feed on his entrails? Perhaps it would be a mercy, after everything he had done to the Starks. That dark thought vanished the moment the wolf started to lurching forward. He'd rather not meet the same end as the mutilated soldiers scattered around them, not after everything that's already happened.

"I-It's me Sansa. It's.. Theon."

There is flicker of recognition in the wolf's savage eyes. Her ears flattened against her skull, and she whined. Theon had lived with Dire Wolves long enough to distinguish their mannerisms, _he hoped_. Maybe he could apply those same theories to whatever it was that Sansa had become. Emboldened by her reaction, he approached her tentatively.

She flinched away, dipping her head. Theon wasn't sure what else to say, or what they should even do at this point, but she wasn't snarling at him anymore. He took the small victories where he could get them these days. The adrenaline that had been keeping him going all day was gone, replaced with a crippling kind of exhaustion he was eerily used to.

"Can... can you change back?"

She looked down at her claws, then whimpered, shaking her head in dismay. He wasn't sure what he expected. She seems to be just as confused as he was, and it didn't bode well for either of them. He swallowed uncertainly, doing his best not to look at the half eaten corpses as he mustered the courage in order to close the distance between them.

She's definitely more intimidating up close, and Theon tried not to cower in front of her.

"We need to find shelter." His fears of being discovered by more Bolton men were, for the most part, largely forgotten. It would be some time before they saw fit to send out another search party, and Theon had a feeling they would meet a similar fate.

Sansa was unresponsive, catatonic almost. Theon didn't know if she was having trouble understanding him, or if she was still trying to process everything that's just occurred.

" _Please_ , my Lady," he said, tone inflected with urgency. "We must go."

After a long, tense silence, she heaved something resembling a sigh.

Sansa couldn't sleep. Not with so many sounds and smells overwhelming her sense. She wished she could ward off the foul desires she had about the coppery taste in her mouth. But she'd learned some time ago about the folly of dreams and wishes.

Through some absurd stroke of luck, they found a small outcropping of stone with a small cave nearby, sheltered from the wind and snow, and agreed to rest there for the remainder of the evening. Sansa knew she could keep going. She felt as though she could run for hours and never tire.

Theon scraped together a fire, with wood that Sansa had collected; a surprisingly challenging task with absurdly long claws. But she seemed much more resilient to the chill of winter with all this fur, and Theon had looked ready to drop dead on his knees for a while, so it just made sense for her to do something useful. It had also given her a moment to herself, and to the despairing thoughts that followed, of course.

She still wasn't able to change back.

Was she doomed to live out the rest of her days as this wretched beast? Was this another curse on her House from the Gods? She had to staunch the thought, because it seemed to stir anger in the wolf, and she couldn't afford to lose herself again. Not when Theon needed her, and she needed him. Now more than ever.

Sansa turned away from the mouth of the cave and over to their sad looking excuse of a fire. Theon startled slightly at her approach but said nothing. Theon was mostly quiet these days, Sansa noticed. Whatever horrible things Ramsey must have done had seen to it that he would never be the same man she grew up with.

She wasn't the same anymore either.

She must have whined out loud without realizing, because worry replaced the fear in Theon's brow.

"Shouldn't be too long before morning," he offered quietly.

She could only nod at him, and somehow even that simple gesture felt foreign in this strange body. He looked near frozen, and the tremble in his voice was most certainly from the cold. She briefly thought about offering some of her own body heat. Theon seemed skittish around her however, more so than before.

He was probably afraid, and that made two of them.

She doesn't think approaching him would be all that comforting given her appearance, but she knew she had to do this if he was going to survive the night. When she dropped down and curled up beside Theon, his trembling eventually stilled.

To her relief, Sansa was herself again when she awoke. She almost could believe the night before had all been an awful dream and nothing more. Of course, her heightened senses suggested otherwise.

Theon was already awake, carefully avoiding eye contact. She'd forgotten about her clothes, or rather, what was left of them. Everything from the neck down was torn to shreds, hanging from her body in shambles.

"Theon?" Her voice was rough and throaty. He jumped a little, startled, but made no motion to turn around.

"We should get moving," was all he said. "Keep going North. To the Wall."

 _'To Jon,'_ she thought. Part of her doubted he even lived, that maybe Ramsey had been toying with her when he had said her half brother was alive and doing well for himself. She knew Theon wasn't lying, though, because even as ruined as he was, he had stuck by her this far. If he believed it then so did she. She had no other choice really. Where else could they turn? They had enemies in every corner of Westeros.

"Are you..." He faltered. "Are you alright?"

 _'No.'_ Sansa inhaled sharply. She'll never be alright. Too much had been lost, and now she got to add her humanity to that list.

She doesn't realize she's crying until Theon pulled her gently into a much needed embrace. She buried her face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, pulling away after a moment to compose herself. She was sick of showing weakness. It made her feel like a foolish little girl again. Nothing like a Stark, and certainly nothing like a wolf. Theon pressed his lips together, regarding her pensively.

"I don't know what's happening to me," she admitted softly, nervously wringing her hands. "I-... I'm scared Theon..."

Theon swallowed thickly.

"Me too."

Theon recovered one of the horses that had fled last night. It had been circling the perimeter of their camp when he woke in the morning. It was clearly used to people and likely seeking shelter too. In any event, Theon coaxed it toward him and they both felt a little less hopeless about the upcoming endeavor.

The horse was nothing too extraordinary, though it did look a little worse for wear after a long night alone in a blizzard. It was likely just as cold and exhausted as they were. And it clearly wanted nothing to do with Sansa, huffing nervously upon her approach. Theon was eventually able to calm it down.

"Perhaps I shouldn't," she said. Tired blue eyes stare dejectedly at the snow beneath her bare feet. She's both thankful and horrified the cold no longer bothered her. "I'd rather not frighten her..."

"Horseback is the only way," he insisted.

 _It isn't_

Not for her. Not anymore. Not with these instincts howling at her to run. She doesn't say as much, warily slipping her hand into Theon's outstretched one instead. The mare doesn't seem at all pleased with the increased load, nor with the strange conflicting scents emanating from Sansa, but Theon still spurs her onward.

Sansa is left to ever darkening thoughts as they make their amble through the forest. The wolf seemed to strangely lurk just beneath her skin, coiled and tense like a tightly wound spring, waiting for the perfect chance to break free again. _No._ She shut her eyes and exhaled a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding.

 _Jon. I'm going to see Jon._

It was the only thing she could think of to anchor her back to reality, as much as it also made her stomach churn. Should she tell Jon about what's happened to her? Trust is something she no longer gave freely, even to her beloved and brooding half brother. She had learned many cruel lessons in such a short span of time, but the most poignant of them all was that nothing in life came without cost, and information was as valuable as gold.

What good would come out of telling her brother she was some kind of monster anyway? And what if he wasn't the same person she remembered? Fond memories of Jon were distant at best to begin had taken after her mother in that regard, doting on Robb and generally acting coldly toward Jon. She looked back at her younger self with nothing but resentment these days.

Oh how different would things have been had she not foolishly been swept up in Joffrey and his false charms? Would her family still be alive?

Sansa was thankfully broken out of her depressing reverie upon realizing they'd ground to a stop, at the edge of a small clearing. In the center of it were the smoking remains of a relatively recent fire, two shoddily pitched tents situated on either side of it. Instinctively, her grip on Theon's waist tightened.

"It's not safe here."

"We need supplies... and _she_ needs rest." He brushed his hand against the horse's neck, who let out what Sansa could only assume was a snort of agreement. Theon's hand goes to grip at the hilt of the blade he had scavenged, a parting gift from one of the fallen Bolton soldiers. "Please stay here while I take a look."

She was about to shake her head. The trudging of heavy boots through snow gave her pause though.. Theon doesn't seem to hear it though. Was it really that far away?

She shuddered.

"Sansa?"

"Someone's coming," she whispered. She practically heard the grinding sound of Theon's jaws clenching.

"Go." It was a command, not a request.

"I won't leave you Theon."

"You really should. He can't have you again, or Winterfell is truly lost..."

Their heads jerked up simultaneously when horses come tromping through the brush, and then a voice, loud and clear as day, rang out around them.

"Lady Sansa!"

 _It couldn't possibly be..._

But it definitely was, and Sansa thanked every God she could think of for Brienne of Tarth, clad in heavy plate armor, a worn but determined expression on her dirt streaked face. She forced her horse to a stop near the outskirts of camp, handing the reigns to her squire before dismounting somewhat eagerly. Valyrian steel comes out from its sheath and Sansa noticed Theon tense up in her peripheral. Brienne simply knelt before them, though her attention is fixed on Sansa when she lifts her head.

"Lady Sansa, I offer you my services once again. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old Gods and the new."

Sansa paused, exchanging a look with Theon.

"And I vow... that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and..." Her brow furrows in consternation, the words having died on her tongue. It's been so long since she's last heard it recited, and she's exhausted in every sense of the word.

"Meat and mead at my table," offered Podrick with a wry smile.

"Meat and mead at my table. And... I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old Gods and the new."


End file.
